


Caustic (A Love Story in Five Acts)

by Snegurochka



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-08
Updated: 2006-03-08
Packaged: 2017-10-05 23:52:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snegurochka/pseuds/Snegurochka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rather harsh and acidic Snape/Lupin romance set during HBP, in the form of five 500-word ficlets.</p><p>~2,500 words. R. A bit of implied D/s. March 2006.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caustic (A Love Story in Five Acts)

**Author's Note:**

> Written in five parts for the stages_of_love drabble and ficlet challenge on LJ. The required stages were: Attraction, Romance, Passion, Intimacy, and Commitment. None of the five segments could be longer than 500 words. They are collected here as a single story arc.

Act 1: Attraction

 

Christmas was a miserable time of year for Remus Lupin – always had been, and always would be. The cold settled in his bones and stiffened joints he didn't even know he had; shorter days and endless winter nights left the moon hovering in the sky much longer than it was welcome; and well-meaning friends always chose the occasion to try to fix him up with one woman or another.

"She's a capable Auror and a nice person, Molly," he found himself muttering over a plate of cheese at the Burrow this particular Christmas Eve. "We're good friends."

His hostess was never satisfied with that answer, though, and Remus was grateful to escape her disapproving eye and join Harry and Arthur by the fire. He should have remembered that this wretched season was never one in which peace and quiet could be left well enough alone. There was always something coming up, just around the bend, to shatter it.

"But, just say– just say Dumbledore's wrong about Snape," Harry's voice insisted.

There it was: Remus's careful Christmas peace destroyed.

He watched the boy sadly as Harry prattled on about all the evidence he'd amassed to prove Severus's disloyalty. The past grunted in protest as its rusted wheels churned back into motion, determined to force Remus to remember all the other voices like Harry's that had ever spoken those words to him – James, Lily, Frank, Alice, Sirius (especially Sirius), and even Peter.

_Dumbledore's wrong about Snape. You mustn't trust Snape. No, Moony, you can't go out to meet someone like Snape without back up_.

"Do you honestly like Snape?" Harry asked him.

_Like_. What answer could he give to that? Nobody _liked_ Severus, that was the entire point of him. He wasn't on this earth to be _liked_ – the very idea reduced the man to a summary quotidian appeal, like a puppy, or a game of chess, or a nice pasta salad.

A man like Severus could learn your darkest secrets with one fierce glance; decide whether you lived or died with one flick of his wrist at your potion; ruin your chance at income with one whispered word to his Slytherin cronies.

Remus felt himself shiver. A man like Severus could have you on your knees before his boots at a single command, and you would kiss them and thank him for the opportunity. At least, that's how it happened in Remus's dreams.

But Remus didn't say any of that to Harry. "I neither like nor dislike Severus," he heard himself answer instead, spinning a vague reply about Severus's good deeds, and hoping it would be enough to lead the boy off sabotaging the work of the entire Order by pursuing some Gryffindor vendetta.

He himself was dissatisfied with his answer, though, and after the children had gone to bed he made his excuses to Arthur and Molly, promised to return the next day for Christmas dinner, then headed out into the night.

 

***

 

Act 2: Romance 

The light was scant as Snape emerged from the ball at nearly two a.m., Narcissa Malfoy on his arm. His senses immediately sharpened and he glanced sideways at a hunched form hidden in the shadows.

"One moment, Narcissa," he said smoothly. "I should call security on this beggar. Go on ahead." She tossed her hair over her shoulder and walked on, shrugging, and Snape turned icy eyes on the shadow. "Do you ingest a particularly potent brand of _stupid_ potion around the holidays, Lupin, or is there a reason you are here?"

"There's a reason."

Snape looked him up and down. "Are you all right?" he asked gruffly.

"I– yes." Lupin paused. "You've never asked me that before."

"Your death would be highly inconvenient to me."

"How romantic, Severus." Lupin cocked his head to the side, and Snape felt his eyes narrow. Calm, controlled, and utterly _boring_ Remus Lupin, who always spoke quietly, listened dispassionately, and gave up a fight before it had even begun. How those werewolf packs hadn't torn the man limb from limb by now was beyond Snape's comprehension. There must be something more to him, something he was hiding. A harder edge that he'd never shown anyone, least of all Snape.

Suddenly, Snape wanted nothing more than to see it. "Did you come here looking for romance?" he asked lightly.

"Not really."

"Then why are you here?"

Lupin did something unexpected then, reaching out and grasping the front of Snape's cloak and pulling it towards him. "Give me a reason," he whispered in Snape's ear.

Snape felt a ripple over his flesh. This was not the same Remus Lupin who wouldn't give him the time of day no matter how many of his friends Snape hurt, or how many jobs Snape lost him. Remus Lupin was a polite, distant, sickeningly _nice _man that Snape longed to tie up and whip until that famous reserve crumbled like a rock slide. A _reaction_, that's what Snape craved – an admission that he merely had to say _jump_, and the werewolf would ask _how high_.

A reason.

"You don't know what you're asking for, Lupin. You must be drunk."

"I'm not."

"Go back to the Weasleys'."

"No."

"There's a war on, in case you hadn't noticed." He glanced down the street at Narcissa. "Keep your friends close."

"And my enemies closer?" Lupin asked quietly.

Snape looked up.

"Which one are you?" Lupin pressed, and Snape felt his mouth go dry.

Nice men didn't say things like that. _Nice men _didn't corner him in shadowed alleys at night, offering to push friendship aside and embrace darkness. He met the gaze of those fiery eyes, usually so dull and morose, that suddenly blazed at him. There was passion now, and the hint of an animal beneath that made Snape's breath catch in his chest.

He leaned as close as he dared. "_Enemy_," he whispered.

"Good," breathed Lupin, glancing over Snape's shoulder. "See to Narcissa, then come to Grimmauld Place. One hour."

***

Act 3: Passion 

Grimmauld Place burned.

Not the milky light of a candle, but the quick, furious orange of a matchstick flame – a one-time need that would flicker and char before you could blow it out. Remus didn't know everything about the old house, but he knew that much. Skin felt different there, it always had, and Snape's was no exception. Remus found he didn't want to touch it so much as smooth it out, like crumpled parchment.

That first night was quick, dirty, and never supposed to happen again; the second night was hard and punishing, because it did. The third night hurt, the fourth left bruises, and on the fifth Remus came so hard and so often, he blacked out as the sun rose.

Everything he'd thought he'd known about Snape was right: Snape sensed his secrets, controlled his chains, issued him his orders. Snape pushed until Remus pushed back, and that precise moment of connection was as addictive as any lethal narcotic.

"_On your knees_."

In an instant.

"_Do not come until I say_."

Disobedience was impossible.

"_Tell no one_."

As if he would jeopardise this.

It was passion; it was poison. You couldn't walk free after letting a man like Severus Snape fuck you. He bled acid and came fire, the Dark Mark seared with a sickly glow on his arm, as he hitched Remus's thighs up higher and sank his cock in deeper.

They never spoke of it, and Remus barely let himself even think of it when it wasn't happening. Snape, who he neither liked nor disliked; Snape, the enigmatic spy with black boots and a blacker heart; Snape, who never bought dinner, never stayed the night, and could have Remus naked at his feet with the snap of his fingers.

January faded into February, and March seeped into April. Remus lived in the forests, howling at the images behind his eyes of sex and Snape and the silk of the whip at his back. He reappeared whenever possible and stalked to Headquarters, listening with half attention to Dumbledore's latest briefings, while levelling a fiery gaze at Snape just to watch the man's breath hitch and his control waver.

"Grimmauld Place," Remus would breathe as he passed by, heading for the door. "One hour."

Every time Remus dropped to his hands and knees and took Snape's cock, that matchstick flared to life and the air around them crackled, toxic fumes filling their mouths and choking their lungs. But let the match burn too long, Remus knew, and all you'd have would be a cold, dark room and blackened fingertips.

_Caustic_.

He trusted Snape with his body – the hardness against his back and the low growls in his ear – but not with his mind, not with his heart, and not with his life. Snape followed too many orders, from too many masters, and turning around to issue them to Remus in the bedroom would never change that.

He was still the enemy.

***

Act 4: Intimacy

In May, the unthinkable happened: Snape fell asleep at Grimmauld Place.

It was routine by then – Lupin disappearing for weeks, then returning to level that gaze at Snape across Headquarters, like the one in that alley Christmas Eve that had nearly knocked Snape backwards. Clothes came off, and Snape issued orders, doled out punishments, and rewarded good behaviour. Every time he asked something new of Lupin – something harder or deeper, something involving stronger chains or a tighter collar – Lupin would meet him at every thrust.

He had to respect that.

Lupin was supposed to loathe him, _fear_ him, but he didn't. Not in the bedroom, at least. He fulfilled every demand and asked for more, pulling the dominance and wringing such pleasure from Snape's body that tonight, for the first time, Snape fell asleep instead of leaving.

He awoke to fingers on his chest and warm breath on his neck.

"This isn't like you, Severus," Lupin murmured in his ear. "I could have killed you in your sleep, you know."

Snape didn't move, lest the lips leave his skin. "You could have."

The lips moved higher, biting at Snape's jaw line. "Tell me why I didn't."

"Because no one else would sleep with you if I were dead."

"That's untrue. Tonks has been trying to sleep with me for months." The lips moved down Snape's collarbone.

"Ah yes, the wolf Patronus. Subtle, that." He moved a hand up to tangle in Lupin's hair, pushing the mouth into his chest.

Lupin bit down on a nipple, then laved it gently with his tongue as Snape moaned. "Jealous, Severus?" he murmured.

"Ridiculous."

"You trust me not to go to anyone else?" Lupin raised his head, those damned eyes burning through Snape yet again.

"No one else could give you what you want."

"And what do I want?" Lupin's voice was soft.

They watched each other for a careful moment before Snape spoke. "Danger. A bit of darkness. Someone who will let the wolf come out and play." He narrowed his eyes.

Lupin's predatory smile came slowly. "You still haven't told me why I didn't kill you in your sleep."

Snape grasped the back of Lupin's neck then and pulled him down, capturing the man's mouth with quiet urgency. Lupin immediately yielded, parting his lips, and Snape had to remind himself that the groan rising up from his chest was not his fault.

He pulled away just as suddenly, lips at Lupin's ear. "Because now I'm not allowed to kill you in _your_ sleep," he whispered. "Nor at any other time, for that matter. Nicely done," he added.

"Thank you."

Snape watched Lupin roll over and push himself off the bed, padding across the room to the loo without a backward glance, and wondered when, exactly, Lupin had gained the upper hand in their relationship.

He also couldn't help but wonder how badly the sight of Lupin's back, walking away from him like this, would hurt after the Unbreakable Vow had been fulfilled.

***

Act 5: Commitment

 

"Snape killed Dumbledore."

That's how Harry said it, just like that. It was somehow seismic and mundane at the same time. Remus never would have expected this, except for the moments when he expected nothing _but_ this.

In December, Remus had honestly believed his feelings for Snape were neutral, if curious. By March they were passionate, bordering on obsessed. In May, they became unshakeable, made of steel. Affairs during wartime were never smart, Remus knew that; loyalties were too fragile, time too short. Soldiers died in wars.

Soldiers killed in wars.

"Snape was a highly accomplished Occlumens," he told the crowd at Bill Weasley's hospital bed. "We always knew that."

There wasn't any point in pretending Snape was innocent; after all, innocence was in the eye of the beholder, and not a single Order member who had ever beheld Snape understood his loyalties, his motivations, or his commitments. Guilt and innocence had no place in war, anyway; he knew that much after living through two of them. Allegiances didn't matter; allies turned to enemies; lies intercepted truths. Promises held, though, and the things Snape had promised him still stood.

_I'm not allowed to kill you in your sleep, nor at any other time, for that matter_.

Snape may be the Dark Lord's loyal servant, but he had sworn that Remus was safe with him. Remus clung to that promise like a wave to the shore.

_Give me a reason_.

There had to be one.

Harry was too shocked to listen to hope, and Remus was too weary to give it, so he joined the others in condemning Snape as a murderer and a traitor. It was better that way; fewer questions.

And in the midst of it all, with his heart choked and his mind fogged, they thrust poor Tonks at him, as though fucking her would help win the war. He held her hand at the funeral as a means of staying upright, thoughts straying to the only truth he knew: you couldn't get involved with a man like Severus Snape and leave it unfinished.

Snape was not likeable, not trustworthy, and not predictable, but Remus had known all those things Christmas Eve and had gone looking for the man anyway. They shared an intimate darkness that might be love, and might be friendship, but probably wasn't quite either. It was time to go looking for him again.

Once the tea had been poured and the grief collectively shared, Remus found himself rummaging in his closet for his rucksack. The note at the bottom of it caught him by surprise, and he clenched it in his fist as he packed with renewed fervour. He was far away from Grimmauld Place before he allowed himself to open it again, trees peeking over his shoulder as he read the two shaky words, a relieved smile on his face.

_Find me_.

He hitched the rucksack over his shoulder and set off through the woods, determined to finish what they'd started.

 

-fin-

**Author's Note:**

> The following dialogue has been taken verbatim from J.K. Rowling, _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_, UK edition:
> 
> Act 1:  
> "But, just say– just say Dumbledore's wrong about Snape." (p. 311)  
> "Do you honestly like Snape?" (p. 312)  
> "I neither like nor dislike Severus." (p. 312)
> 
> Act 5:  
> "Snape killed Dumbledore." (p. 574)  
> "Snape was a highly accomplished Occlumens. We always knew that." (p. 574)


End file.
